


the falcons, the clouds, or the cross

by fangirlingmywaythroughlife (hold_onto_your_heart)



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hold_onto_your_heart/pseuds/fangirlingmywaythroughlife
Summary: Violet passed in 1928, and by time 1929 comes around she's decided that she needs to watch over her family. A little meddling wouldn't go amiss, either.The idea, and title, comes from the Florence the Machine song 'Wish That You Were Here'. There will be four chapters, featuring Tom, Isobel, Cora, and Robert. Cross-posted on ff.net and tumblr.





	1. Tom

Her death was a morose affair, as if Violet would let it be anything else. She wondered if they could cope without her; once deep mourning for Patrick was over and she was stuck in the Dower House they thought they could run their world without her fine, and some decades had passed since then. Really, they should have known better - it was her who had repetitively put Isobel in her place, who had reminded the girls of their family’s love, and it was her who had pushed the two heads of the household together in times of grief (as much as she believed in otherwise, Cora had more control over Robert than she had liked, not to mention that the entire county  _ adored  _ her more than they ever had Violet). Violet simply could not pass without informing the house how much they relied on her, and she would rather repeat her death a thousand times over than pass and let Isobel have the final word. So, when deep mourning turned into half mourning, she decided it was time to intervene in a more obvious manner.

 

_ tom _

Tom, Violet decided, spent far too much time around vehicles. While he no longer drove them, he still had an affinity for them, and would visit the garage when he thought no one was watching, which was a habit Violet could not deem appropriate for an upper class gentleman. Well, she didn’t know if he was an upper class gentleman or not, yet he was one of the family, and he ought to know better. She decided to start it off small, a slammed door here and there when she noticed that downcast look on his face, often accompanied by doubts over where he stood in his own life, and a swift path to his car. It was a shame, Violet thought, that she couldn’t manifest in the garage herself and scare the man out of his wits, although Violet hadn’t gone near a garage in her life and wanted to say the same for her death.

 

Violet hadn’t known of Tom’s improper habit in her life, although she did hear Robert complaining on occasion that he couldn’t find Tom for some business manner. Yet it was impossible for him to be in the garage then as much as he was currently - she often found that Tom’s impromptu visits often overlapped with the times he would meet her for tea and biscuits.  _  Perhaps,  _ Violet mused,  _ I simply need to remind him that I am right here and he will cease the nonsense. _

 

On the day Violet determined was appropriate to act, she snagged a biscuit from one of the footmen on their way up to the drawing room. If he had noticed a biscuit flicker seemingly out of existence from the plate in front of him (and he surely had, even Violet didn’t think footmen were that dim), he hadn’t reacted.  _ Good _ , Violet hummed to herself,  _ I am glad to see that not everything has fallen apart in the year without me. _ She strode down the corridor, cane in hand as always, and felt a wave of amusement wash over her when she walked through the second footman and made him shiver. 

 

Tom was, as expected, slinking off to oil a ghastly machine. A sudden  _ slam _ of the side door leading outside wrenched the air out of Tom’s lungs. while he was too startled to investigate, Violet rested against a wooden table, and used more energy than she would have liked to admit on becoming a sliver more visible than she was previously. "Tom." she addressed, causing the electrical light behind her to quiver. 

 

The poor man appeared more confused than anything else; his brow furrowed and his eyes widened while he tried to make sense of what he had heard. "Do not fret Tom, it is only me, although I can understand your shock; many men have been frozen by my presence." she chuckled, hoping that he wouldn’t join her in the grave through fright. "Come, I’ve brought you a biscuit." A pat of the wooden table roused him to his senses as he turned towards her, despite his conviction that they must have failed him. "It’s got the little fruit pieces in you like."

"V-Violet?"

"Of course, who else?"

"But you- you’re-"

"I am aware of my  _ misfortune,  _ but how could I leave you alone when you clearly need me so much?" It appeared that even a year after her death her family were still making the type of comments that would have caused her to roll her eyes if she were a weaker person.

"Now? How do I need you now?"

Violet pursed her lips as she motioned for Tom to take the biscuit. He accepted gingerly, as if he were making a deal with the devil. His deft fingers jerked as they ran through Violet’s hands rather than settling in their usual halo of warmth. After a quick look at her expectant face, he took a bite of the gift. Just a few seconds of the sharp juice confirmed for Tom that the biscuit had indeed originated in Mrs Patmore’s kitchen and not the deep depths of hell.

 

Once Tom was halfway into his honeyed treat, Violet resumed her soft scolding. "you know Tom, that there are other ways to deal with your grief."

"I’m sorry?" Tom was sure that the biscuit inside his mouth had transformed into dry wheat; he was always careful to please Violet with his table manners even after many tea trips to her house.

"I know you like your cars, but it is an unseemly habit." A faint pink tinge appeared on Tom’s cheeks, though neither of the pair could tell if it was from anger or confusion. Copious amounts of visits to Violet had ended with the other family member in a vexed and perplexed state; it was mostly the former that reigned. "It could lead you down the road to destruction, so to speak."

Violet spied a thick swallow before Tom spoke again, "I do not believe that admiring the new inventions will cause my life to fall apart."

"Well, you can’t be sure, nowadays there are all sorts of inventions that cause the world grief. I hear that those new hairdryers have scalped many a woman." While Violet was sincere in her beliefs about hairdryers, Tom’s lips finally stretched into a smile.

"I’ll be sure to inform Cora of the danger." Tom looked at the floor to hide his full grin.

"Cora still has that monstrosity?" Violet’s voice betrayed her horror as she momentarily forgot her mission in lieu of planning how to admonish her daughter in law for trying to scalp herself.

"Yes. She enjoys it immensely." Tom returned his gaze to his old friend. She appeared to shine around her edges in time with the quiver of the light, and he was all too soon reminded of the fact that this really was the last time he was going to see her, let alone converse with her. He sniffed to hide the tears forming in his eyes and to return Violet’s attention to him. "What are you really here for?"

Violet smiled; she had always appreciated how shrewd he was. "I’ve spoken to Sybil." Her voice featured a rare streak of tenderness. "She’s proud of you. And of Sybbie."

Tom had almost immediately relaxed after his reflexive stiffening at the mention of his beloved. "Just Sybil?"

Well. He had caught Violet out. "You are one of the family, Tom, of course I am proud of you too."

Tom’s cerulean eyes glistened like the sea as tears threatened to overspill once more. "Thank you. Both for the message and the biscuit."

The pair chuckled again, both slightly nervous about being so vulnerable with the other after a year apart. "Oh my dear boy," Violet replied, the warmth in her voice a reassuring pat on his shoulder, "Did you expect anything else?"

Violet returned to her position facing away from him, her image fading while she hobbled along the corridor. With her energy mostly spent, she reflected on their conversation. While she may have not saved him from his own demise, she had certainly lifted his spirits on a day when his gloom hovered over him in a black cloud. It had pained both her and Sybil to see him like this, thus she was glad to have alleviated it a little. From the end of the corridor, she heard a soft "No." in reply, and the final crunch as he chewed on the last of his favourite biscuit. While Violet had never had a biological grandson, she was glad she had Tom.


	2. Isobel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to avoid any misunderstanding, this fic is canon compliant for all series. If there are any scenes where the conversation doesn't quite make sense, it was because I wrote that chapter before watching series 6, and there will be an author's note in warning. Thank you for reading :)

Violet was surprised to find herself manifested next to Isobel only a day after her encounter with Tom. She was even more surprised to hear Isobel talking to herself - Violet had thought that Isobel had grown out of such middle-class ways. “We always had good times, you and I, didn’t we?” Isobel murmured sadly, as she walked through Downton village, presumably on her way back to Crawley house. “While I doubt anyone knows the mysteries of your mind Violet, I’d like to think you considered us at least friends.” Violet almost stopped short; she never expected hers and Isobel’s tentative alliance to last so long through her death.

“Well, I still don’t know if I actually liked your personality or just tolerated it, but I do know that I did enjoy your company.” 

Despite Violet’s interruption, Isobel continued on her way, shaking her head to herself. “Oh now I really am going to need to be committed, first I was talking to myself and now I’m hearing voices! What would Violet think about that?”

“Violet would be annoyed that you are ignoring her.” The woman in question announced, perching herself on a stone wall just in front of Isobel and drawing in energy to make herself visible.

“That is a surprise. Usually you would have many more criticisms that that.” While Isobel’s paled, her voice did not falter, as used as she was to (successfully) attempting to one up Violet’s retorts. “Unless your entire presence here is the criticism itself?”

Violet shuffled uncomfortably, annoyed that Isobel had seen through her as if she were a, well, ghost. “Isn’t that your  _ raison d’être? _ ”

“I don’t think we can talk about  _ reasons to live _ , considering one of us is dead.” Isobel grimaced, a hint of anger touching her tone, “Besides, you can’t be real.” She turned harshly, intent on continuing her journey. Dismayed, Violet automatically leaned towards her, however Isobel, as usual, interrupted her plans. “It is not possible! This is some kind of trick! I had never thought anyone in this village would be so cruel, and I beg you to leave me be.” At the end of Isobel’s tirade, Violet spied a stray tear dropping to the floor, and her heart broke for Isobel. She didn’t know if she had interacted with Isobel to stop the nonsense of conversing with oneself or if because she had realised that the one-sided conversation had indicated a deeper pain, but either way she was there because she cared for Isobel. It did not do for a member of her family to be hurt.

“Isobel.” This time Violet’s voice was heavy with unspoken emotion, which startled Isobel into reluctantly facing Violet. “This is not a trick. I am here because I am. Can we not have a cup of tea and a rational conversation?”

A breathy noise somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle escaped from Isobel’s throat, “We are in public. I am quite surprised that nobody has already come to take me away; we are a far cry from being served tea.”

Violet smiled the self satisfied smirk that tugged at her lips whenever she got her way. “Well look at the weather. It looks as if the heavens will burst and drown us all in a biblical flood if we are not careful.” at Violet’s words, a chilling wind stole the heat from their surroundings, proving Violet’s comments on the unappealing weather.

“But I am out here.”

“Yes, but you were never one for good decisions.” Even as Violet spoke, the pair knew that her words were not true, or were meant to harm. The barb was just Violet’s way of friendship. “Come. Join me.” Violet patted the space on the wall next to her; Isobel’s shoulders sagged for a moment before she relented.

 

Several minutes passed in silence; both women relished the given time with their companion but didn’t need to fill the space between them with idle chatter. It was enough for the both of them to be in another’s company, alive or not. 

“My dear, are you happy?” Violet had to know.

Isobel looked at Violet, the creases in her face multiplying as she portrayed a smile that did not affect her wet eyes. “Yes. I am.” But she could not flee from Violet’s pointed look - Violet knew there was more to Isobel’s reply and the intrigue was clear in her raised eyebrow. “I have had so many years on this earth, Violet, and I have known so many. My Reginald has been gone for so long, as well as my blessed Matthew, and I can live without them yet I miss them so terribly. They are gone, and you too have shuffled off this mortal coil; it all just makes me wonder, what is it all for? Will I matter ten years after I too have passed; will I even be remembered after fifty?”

“You speak as if you are already dead, instead of alive and well, and surrounded by a warm family. You have had a good life, have you not?”

“Yes, of co-”, Isobel answered, although Violet would not let her continue.

“And you are pleased with where you are now?”

“Yes.” This time Isobel knew not to interrupt Violet further.

“Well that is all you need to worry about.”

A frown crowned Isobel’s face as surprise and confusion took over her body. “I never thought you were so easily taken by matters of the heart. What about the dilapidated state that you believe the world is coming too, all the ruin that is sure to become us?”

Violet waved a dismissive hand, “Of course that is all coming. But that will no longer affect me, those who it will affect are equipped to deal with it, unless they can do the ideal thing and stop it. You however, are affected by matters of the heart, both metaphorically and physically. You are and have been more than helpful in many a person’s life, and you will be remembered with gratitude.”

At Violet’s speech, Isobel was once again close to tears. “Thank you, Violet.” This time, her low voice did waver.

“Gratitude, and a little annoyance I can imagine.”

Isobel chuckled; she had truly missed Violet’s playful insults and bristly nature. “You can’t let me have the last word, can you?”

“I would rather watch the Abbey burn down.” Despite the morose thought, the pair shared a finale smile before Violet patted Isobel’s trembling hand and rose from the makeshift seat. As she faded from existence, she hoped that she had pulled Isobel from where she had wallowed in her grief. Apparently, Isobel’s innate sadness had led to the unfortunate habit of talking to herself, and Violet could never let someone she kept company with have such a middle class habit. It simply would not do. Nor would the rain that was inevitable, although Violet mused with amusement the image of Isobel soaked and resembling a drowned rat. It would be a treat.


	3. Cora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before I had finished the series, so Tom hasn't moved back from America yet in this (don't worry, it's inconsequential to the story, but it explains an otherwise odd conversation).

To Violet’s surprise, weeks passed before she was able to physically manifest again. In that time the showery spring had turned into a bright summer, albeit with a few rainfalls here and there - it was England after all. Violet had been in and out of Downton - when she was there she was wandering the halls of the big house or looking over Isobel, but when she wasn’t she didn’t know where she was. However, decades of living in Downton meant that she could tell when she was; the sunlight and preparation for the annual cricket game told her that it must have been July, possibly August. Violet was sure she didn’t approve of a cricket game in half mourning, but she did approve of her family getting back to normal, and the cricket match undoubtedly gave her son some joy and Cora something to do.

 

So, when Violet found herself back in back in St Michael’s Church cemetery, she was baffled as to why Cora was roaming the family plot. Didn’t she have work to do? She had to run the house and organise the cricket match! Didn’t she teach the woman anything?

 

In hurry, Violet strode over to the wooden bench Cora had perched herself on. However, Violet stopped short when she came within a few feet of her daughter in law. Silent tears streamed down Cora’s face, glistening in the sun beams that illuminated the poised woman. Violet settled herself next to Cora, wishing that Cora could sense her presence and compose herself, as she had done a few times before. The elder Crawley couldn’t decide where to look, both Cora’s tears and Violet’s own grave in front of her unnerved her; she was as jittery as a mouse in a lion’s den. Crying women were not Violet’s forté.

 

Cora wiped her tears away from her face, ever the image of grace even in such obvious grief. “I fear for him mama. He regrets his passing years, and he won’t easily admit his weaknesses. His father died at such a young age and I cannot bear to live all of the years you had without your husband without Robert.” Cora’s concern was infectious. Violet no longer had to worry about her own place in the world - being dead meant that the luxuries she had in life had already been given up - so her one concern about being the matriarch of the Crawleys was her family. Despite years of resentment towards Cora and the continuous rejection Violet dished out, she had fostered some affection for her daughter in law, as reluctant as that may be. Violet decided she would give her son a kick up the backside later for scaring his wife so, but right then her priority was ensuring Cora could return to the lady she was meant to be and stop crying in public (if Violet provided some emotional comfort, she mused, it would merely be coincidental). 

 

“Cora dear, whatever’s the matter?” Violet inquired. However she had misjudged her timing, and had startled Cora so badly that the usually dignified Countess let out a yelp and jumped to her feet.

“What on earth is this? Someone needs to explain themselves, and quickly!” Cora’s gentle voice had turned deadly, a hoarse anger that neither lady knew who it was directed at, for Cora kept turning sharply to ensure no one was tricking her. After a silent moment, Cora collected herself and returned to the bench with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry for shouting. You surprised me.”

 

“On the contrary, you’ve taken my appearance the best so far.” Violet threw her a bemused expression, slightly taken aback at how calm Cora appeared to be. She expected Cora more dramatic in private, yet she was ever the Countess in private the Countess that she was in public.

“If I’m being honest I’m wondering what took you so long. I expected you to appear a day after and start bossing us around.” Cora chuckled, all trace of tears and anger forgotten.

“I decided to wait until half mourning; it would be impolite otherwise.”

Cora hid a smile, unsure if Violet was joking or not. Her death hadn’t changed her, Cora was sure. Another silent pause passed before Cora spoke again: “Who else have you spoken to?”

She failed to meet Violet’s eyes when the elder looked at her.

“Well, it was Tom first, and then Cousin Isobel.”

“Tom? But he has only visited once since the funeral.”

“Yes, well. He had developed a nasty habit involving cars.”

Cora smiled again, enjoying the civil conversation. “I thought during dinner one night that something had spooked him. Although I hadn’t believed it so literally.”

“Oh don’t be so crass! You make it sound as if I waited for him behind a corner and shouted ‘boo!’ at him.”

“Didn’t you?” Cora laughed, as if the pair had forgotten about her earlier mutterings.

 

Violet studied the woman in front of her. Her wide-brim hat kept the bright sun rays away from her elegant face, leaving it in shadow. There was almost no indicator of anything bothering her, although Violet knew that Cora was about to bite her lip, an unmissable sign of distress for the Countess. “What were you talking about, when you mentioned Robert earlier?”

 

As predicted, Cora bit her bottom lip softly at Violet’s gentle voice. “I’m worried for his health. We’re not so young anymore.” 

“The pair of you both certainly act like you’re not in your sixties.” Violet was glad her son had such a loving relationship, but she couldn’t keep a hint of disdain out of her voice at the thought of the couple’s affections in public.

“That’s exactly what I mean! He feels he can launch himself into a cricket game with no practice; he’s not as fit as he was when he was a young man, and I fear he will work himself too hard.”

“And he’s not listening to your concerns?”

“No. He’s a stubborn man.” Cora grumbled.

Violet shifted her weight, placing her cane on her lap in lieu of leaning on it. “He will learn.”

Cora whipped round to face her dead mother in law. “Surely you don’t mean-”

Violet frowned. “Of course not. I meant that eventually he will find his joints stiffen up far too often to play sport more than once in a year, or that he will fall asleep if he does not limit his workload. The body has its own small ways to show your limitations Cora, and I am sure that the both of you are feeling those already. He will not ignore them for too long.” Violet sent a haughty look in Cora’s direction. “And neither will you, for that matter.”

Cora wrung her dainty hands in her lap. “You make it sound as if we will have no fun when we get old.”

Shaking her head, Violet chuckled. “It has its benefits. When people aren’t busy ignoring you, they will cater to your every whim. And there is little point in getting older if you can’t get a little ruder too.”

Cora struggled not to roll her eyes, the ghost of a smile dancing across her face. “Thank you for your tips, mama.” She replied dryly.

 

Violet reached out and patted Cora’s hand. “Don’t worry dear, it’s all about perspective. To Sybbie, Tom is old, yet to me, you are still young. Both of you have some years left in you yet.”

“Thank you. Truly.” This time Cora’s thanks was sincere. “I hope I’ve done you proud.” 

A genuine smile from Violet lit up the pair. “You’ve done me proud and more, Cora. The county adores you, and Downton has been saved from ruin in many a way because of you. The family would be tripping over themselves to find that  _ an American _ has done so much for them.”

 

Cora’s hands were released from Violet’s grasp as Violet stood and straightened her back as far as she was able. A gentle wind blew, swirling around Violet as she faded out of existence, once more leaving the scene as Cora, Countess of Grantham, sitting alone on an ancient bench in front of a revered family plot, with crystalline tears running down her cheeks reflecting the beautiful sunlight that bathed the entire area.


	4. Robert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weather in this is actually historically accurate. While researching, I found out that the Met Office actually has PDFs of old monthly weather reports, including the 1920s, and it rained for the first 8 days of October 1929.

Months passed before Violet presented herself to the living again. Summer passed easily, with a week of miserable clouds and a bruised sky only broken by intermittent yet intense rainfall marking the transition from September to October. Even the grand house looked weighed down by the weather, and inside the inhabitants were not faring much better. Cora had been revitalised by Violet’s comments for a time, unfortunately, Robert’s health had not also felt the effect. Violet watched him with a heavy heart as he struggled to climb the stairs; even the smaller staircases had become a near-insurmountable cliff rather than a mere path to his bedroom. She wasn’t sure if her words to Cora had been true or something to reassure the woman, yet it appeared then that they were simply wishful thinking.

 

Robert found himself in the bedroom, attempting another nap before the dressing gong. He usually would have rested in his own dressing room, but he had few hours until the gong and he slept better in the bed he and Cora shared, surrounded by her scents. Violet perched herself on the edge of the bed, reluctant to be on the bed he lovingly shared with his wife. “Robert?” The man in question only shuffled his weight around, as if he could simply shake off the voice of his dead mother. “I assume you have been resting as Cora asked?” She was met by unintelligible muttering. “Robert?” Silence followed.

 

Violet relented, reaching over to pat his shoulder before gathering her skirts and cane and standing up. “I’ll be back later, to check on you.” She stated. Ironically, she had shown her most maternal care in death, but it was impossible for her to be worried about her only son, even if really she was six feet under. She had expected her son to see it as a trick and get angry, or at least flat out deny that she existed. Tired resignation to both her and the world was not what she had hoped for her son; the seed of worry that Cora had planted in her chest bloomed, the roots fully gripping her heart. It was so intense that the pain would have been worrying if she was still alive. No doubt Robert was feeling a similar pain.

 

The sun set quickly over Downton. It wasn’t long before the lord and lady of the house retired to bed, weary and aching for sleep in the others’ arms. Violet watched them turn out the light and turn into each other, her voyeuristic moment born out of curiosity to see how the couple interacted in private. She knew they loved each other still, even if she couldn’t quite believe it when she thought about their original union, yet she didn’t truly know what that entailed. The endearing ‘I love you’ and ‘goodnight darling’ caused her to purse her lips in discomfort; she hadn’t thought she would be trespassing on something so intimate when it was so routine. Concerned, Violet stilled in the gentle darkness: it revealed the difference in the breathing of the pair. Cora’s was regular, as expected, but Robert’s breaths were continuously decreasing in volume and increasing in pace, the blood clearly struggling to reach its destination. “Robert?” Cora’s anxiety flowed through the room, washing over Violet like a freezing wave. Something was clearly awry. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s - It’s the silliest thing-” Every word was punctuated by a gasp. “I feel like - like I’, going to - die.”

Cora shot up, yanking the light on and jumping out of bed in one swift movement. She rushed straight through Violet, unaware of the frozen woman watching over them. Grasping Robert’s hands, she whispered, “I’m going to alert someone to get the doctor. I will be right back, my love.” With a kiss on his head, she ran out into the corridor, making as much noise as she could in rousing the person in the room closest to them.

 

Finally, Violet was able to move again; fear had previously chained her in place. She rushed to her son’s bedside and knelt to look at his face, brushing his sweaty hair away. “Mama?” He whispered.

She started, surprised at being recognised. Violet hadn’t focused on spending energy to make herself visible. “Yes?”

“I’m scared.” With those two words, Robert was no longer the Earl of Grantham to his mother. He was a little boy again, shy at seeing his mother for an hour, or running away from a startling gunshot. He was her son.

Cora burst in. Mother and son jolted as the door slammed against the wall. Cora had no care for manners or propriety with her husband in such danger. “Tom’s on his way down to the telephone. Doctor Clarkson will be on his way soon.”

“Th-the girls?” His laboured breathing caused him agony now, Violet could tell. “Don’t l-let them see this.”

Robert could not have caused Cora more pain if he had struck her. “You are not going to die Robert, you are not!” She spoke as if she could will him into staying alive, will his heart into ceasing failure. Violet wished Cora could.

“I love you.” Robert could barely see his wife he was so light-headed, but he knew hot tears were spilling down her face as they were his. “Always.”

“Robert,” Cora found it just as hard to choke out words as her husband did, for her sobs were so violent. “No, please.” Her shaking hands grasped his trembling body.

“You’ve m-made me so h-happy, darling. I couldn’t ask, f-for a better, better wife.” 

“No, no, Robert, I love you, please.” Cora pressed her own forehead to her husband’s, hoping, wishing for her touch to stop death. Violet was again paralysed; her sorrow overtook every fibre in her body while disbelief forced her to watch her daughter-in-law weep over her dying son’s body.

 

“Mama?” Robert’s own ghostly apparition appeared before Violet.

“Robert?”

“I’m here now Mama.” Despite appearing in the glorious form he took some years previously, Robert still had the child’s voice he’d adopted during his heart attack. “We can go home.”

“Yes Robert, of course.” Violet ushered her son towards her and away from the bedroom, protecting him from the scene of his wife and daughters weeping over his last breaths.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before I finished the series, which is why Cora and not Mary has the hairdryer.


End file.
